The Break of Dawn
by MBallyntyne
Summary: The brothers are worried for one of their own.


Something I've had milling about in my brain for a while. Very short, very quickly written, enjoy! Also, I don't own the Thunderbirds.

MBallyntyne

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><p>"Where's Dad?"<p>

"He hasn't come in yet? I expected him to be here."

"No, he came in when it looked like he was going to wake up. Apart from that I haven't seen him." The ear-splitting sound of plastic scraping metal. Something hitting the ground hard. A huff as someone sits down. A break in the talking.

"Gordon was in here though." The sound of hair rustling as someone shook their head.

"It's not good for him. He's been in here for the last two days, he needs to sleep."  
>"I know, that's why he's not in here anymore. I send him up to Ohana to get something to eat and then told him to go to bed." Another pause. "Not completely useless you know," muttered under the breath.<p>

"I know," said through a smile. "Bet he loved that; his little brother telling him what to do."

"Yeah, he went real quietly." The sound of two laughter's, one much deeper than the other.

"How's he doing?" A sigh.

"Looked like he was going to wake up there for a second but … I guess not. I just … I don't know, John. What if…"

"Hey. Don't think like that. He is gonna wake up and be back to annoying the hell out of all of us within two minutes."

"I know, it's just … he looks so dead. I guess I haven't seen him like this in a while." A pause. Slight frost descending.  
>"And hopefully won't have to see him like this again." Warming again. "Scott looks like he's all ready to wrap him in bubble-wrap and tie him to the bed, and I don't think Gordon is disagreeing with it. In fact, that might explain why there's been a multitude of that foam packaging stuff outside my door. They're trying to recuit volunteers."<p>

"Makes sense. You're the only one who'd be able to talk some sense into him." A rustle of someone standing. "Well, if you're here, I'm going to get something to eat." A pause as if the owner of the voice was debating whether or not to say something. "Call me if anything happens." Scuffed feet rapidly retreating and the swish of an automatic door opening. A sigh from the voice still nearby. There was silence for the next ten minutes.

"You know," the voice suddenly said, breaking the quiet, "You need to be a little more careful. It's not like I think this was your fault but you've got to admit, it wasn't the smartest idea to go up against the wave by yourself." There was an audible wince in the voice, as if the speaker was remembering something unpleasant. "Scott's beside himself, he's driving everyone up the wall. Not that it takes much at the moment. We're all over-tired, overly-emotional, and under-staffed. There aren't going to be enough people to go if we get called out for a rescue. Scott refuses flat-out to leave the house and Gordon isn't much better. He hasn't been swimming since … since the accident. And Alan is doing everything he can to take on the role of caregiver to all of us." Another heavy sigh.

"That boy is growing up too fast. Remember when we used to tease him about how small he was? And Scott managed to leave him on that bus? No wait, that was you. Wasn't it? I'm pretty sure it was; I remember Scott managed to come home alone and Dad flipped out." A quiet laugh. "I have never seen him that mad. You didn't see it, you were on a bus heading towards East London. He grounded Scott for the rest of his life, but that got waived when Scott was the one who managed to track you down, with much help from yours truly." The smug grin was clear but the hidden undertones held hints of the horror of the hour.

"You were fast asleep on the bus seat, curled around that tatty little back-pack. Man, that thing was awful. We never told you but it didn't actually go missing. You were so determined to keep it, took it everywhere, that we told you you'd lost it. I think it was Gordon actually who tossed it into the neighbor's rubbish bag one day." A reminiscing smile.

"Anyway, Scott picked you up and carried you all the way to the car. You were fast asleep but when he went to let you go, you clung to his shirt. He had to ride the whole way back to the hotel with you on his lap. Dude, you were so cute back then. Now you just chase people with needles when they annoy you." The hand that had snuck its way into a close grip suddenly tightened. "You've gotta come back, buddy. Gotta chase us around the pool when we wake you up too early, and paint the sunsets every second night, tell Scott he's being an ass, and make us all better. Can't make us all better if you're not here with us. I miss you, buddy. So for us – for me – come back, okay?"

The faintest movement somewhere south of the elbow. A tightening of weak muscles, the slight curl of something that hadn't been felt for days. A surprised huff of breath.

"Hey," murmured under the breath. "Hey." A bit louder. "Do that again." Again, the muscles tightened, gripped the rapidly tightening grip back. Relief melting off of the low sound of a laugh that gathered in intensity.

"Scott! Scott, Gordon! Guys! Alan! Get down here! Dad!" A high-pitched beep, just above the pitch of other beeping noises that were getting louder and more frequent. "Scott, get your sorry ass down here!" A mumbled blur of sound emitting from further away, the static-y sound like someone speaking through a radio.

"I'll … down now … Gordon … here … " It faded away in the midst of a new sound. Back from the beginning. Displaced air. Footsteps. Sloppy wet footsteps. A voice yelling something. Another voice calming the first. The hiss of the air. More footsteps, heavier ones. Two pairs of boots. Slippers? Louder beeping. A whoosh of something. Breathing. Mumbling. Muttering. Murmuring. A tapping on metal. Voices. Lots of voices. Too many voices – They were too much – Everywhere – Touching him – tapping him – everywhere – insisting –

Bight light. Whiteness. Darkness again.

"Hey, it's okay, Alan's turning the lights off."

"Open your eyes again." The voices blurred together slightly, melding into two then one voice. Blurriness. Less whiteness than before. Flickering water colours above, painted against the white. Faces. Blurs. Faces. Smiling? Yes. Smiling. Happy to see … him?

Blue eyes grinned.

"Hey, Virge."


End file.
